New Beginning
by Snarky Holophrasis
Summary: In clichéd tales, the prince and the princess nearly always find their happy-ever-after. In clichéd tales, the guy is always a sexy wolf and the female is a sly, jaw-dropping vixen. But this is real life and because of that, Mother Nature has a different course for her inhabitants. "Life sucks" suddenly brings an entirely new definition to light. *1
1. Prologue

This idea has been slowly developing in mind for a while.

Without further ado, I give you:  
 **New Beginning**

* * *

It was a quiet autumn afternoon in Surrey Borough. The last rays of sun basked the golden sand in a soft yellow glow. Slowly, slowly, it dipped into the sea, leaving a trail of dusty white specks in its trail. A soft wind was blowing, calm and untroubled. Foamy waves lapped against the shore, begging to be held and embraced by a pair of open arms.

Two figures sat together.

She hugged her knees against her chest, hands occupied with the course sand underfoot.

He watched her wordlessly, intently, as the wind teased his carefully combed hair.

Her eyes darted towards the darkening sea. Sifting the sand between her fingers, she muttered, "That's stupid and you know it."

He shrugged as he leaned back and propped himself against his elbows. "It was just a thought," he said, digging a hole into the sand with his shoed toe.

"Not the best idea you've had, _Ace_." The owner of the alto voice kept her umber gaze on the horizon.

He chuckled, "Binge-watching _Gilmore Girls_ , are we."

She glanced at him sideways. Without any warning, she tossed a handful of sand onto his sweatshirt. "Says whom?"

As their conversation veered away from the former topic, they settled into a comfortable banter.

* * *

The quarter moon shone brilliantly from the heavens as it tossed a milky white glow upon the violet waves and cast shadows around the duo. A few stars peeked out from the indigo sky.

As the tide began creeping in, the proprietor of dark windswept hair stood up. Straightening his back, he shook his body in the manner of a befuddled timber wolf, running a hand through his hair. With a faint tremor, he turned his face towards moon and inhaled silently.

The girl was still seated on the sand, chewing her bottom lip, brow furrowed and tangled auburn hair astray. The woolen gray sweater that had been given to her by her father on her thirteenth birthday remained oversized; to this day, the warm fabric still hung loosely from her frame.

He looked down at her. Holding out an outstretched palm, he said quietly, "It's getting late. Walk you home?"

She looked up. Swallowing the thin lip skin she was chewing on, she nodded slightly and reached up, clasping his warm hand in her cold ones, and pushed off the ground. Dusting the sand off the seat of her patterned leggings, she glanced at him gratefully and yawned.

The two ventured down the leaf-strewn stone path. From both sides of the street stood bright, warm houses. Far in the distance, the dark silhouette of the Empire State Building could be seen. The rest of the city lay in a faraway outline of neon lights and tall skyscrapers. Tugging at the neck of her sweater, she stood in the lamplight. "It was just a thought though, right?"

He paused mid step, standing several paces away from her. He sighed, "Of course, you idiot. Of course."

She fell in step beside him. "Promise?"

"I promise."

The calm serenity present in his voice was emphasized by the inaudible echoes the fresh autumn wind left behind in the crisp leaves that danced excitedly from their spots from the branches overhead.

Halfheartedly convinced, she nodded and fell into step behind him. Lifting her head to gaze at him, her pink nose and rosy cheeks flushed another shade warmer. "Now that that's somehow out of the way, may we get ice cream?"

"It's dark," came the voice beside her.

"It isn't even eight yet," she argued.

"We haven't had dinner."

"Who cares about dinner? Ice cream can be eaten for dinner."

"No it can't."

"Says the person who indulges himself with chocolate strawberries on a weekly basis."

Defeated, the figure beside her rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Speeding up her pace, she said solemnly, "Your treat though, of course."

"Only if you let me spend the night."

She grinned. "Deal, you fraidy cat."

He protested, "I'm not–"

"Free ice cream, here I come."

* * *

 _Snarky Holophrasis_  
 _November 10th, 2015_


	2. The Deepest Question

Thank you for the Follows. This chapter is rated T for language.

 **Disclaimer: _Disclaimed_**

 **Chapter Two: The Deepest Question**

* * *

"Would you fuck me?"

The pair was in her room. A lit lamp sitting on a wooden desk was on, throwing light beams across the room. The thick navy drapes were drawn shut. The low hum of electricity kept a faint, continuous vibrato in the background. Plastered over the baby-blue walls were various posters accumulated over the years. A notable black-and-white image hanging above the wooden bedpost was a photograph of two pimple-ridden teenagers of the opposite genders. The hilarity springing forth from such a portrait was the formal, serious print upon the picture of two goofballs. A straw hat embroidered with wildflowers covered the boy's eyes; a fake mustache sat lopsidedly above his lip, discreetly asking for attention. What seemed particularly baffling, however, was the zigzag-patterned bra hugging his chest at an odd angle; the lone bow in the center of the garment seemed to be shouting, "Take me off!"  
A cheeky grin was etched upon the girl's face as her index and middle finger stuck up behind the boy's flowery head. Lengthy bangs peeked out from a frazzled beanie; short cropped hair frayed at her neck, and several inconveniently longer strands caught themselves in her joyous beam.

"Oi, I asked you a question."

"What question?" A stirring came from under the sheets. A mop of brunet hair disappeared from the pillow and ducked underneath the blankets.

"You heard the first time, you idiot."

"Nobody asked you to repeat it," said a muffled voice. Tainted with sleepiness, the speaker yawned and made a point in burrowing deeper into her comforter.

"Get out of bed."

"No."

"Don't make me."

"Oh Natsume, you are _such_ a morning joy, a sight for sore eyes." Shuffling under the sheets, the lethargic girl ignored his halfhearted threat.

"So I've heard," Natsume observed, nodding to no one in particular. Second finger against his bottom lip, he crossed his legs atop one another. An impish blink of an eye and a flick of a wrist later, he said, "You seem to be forgetting something."

"I'm trying to sleep. Shut up and leave me alone."

Without warning, the black bedspread was yanked away from the curled-up form, revealing puffy-eyed girl, her auburn hair sticking up in a myriad of angles. Her neck snapped up to reveal startled eyes. A speck of saliva gathering at the corners of her mouth was hastily wiped away.

"It's ten now, precious princess. Rise and shine."

Sitting up groggily in her unbuttoned pajamas, the 'precious princess' threw a menacing glare at her disruptor. "Natsume," she growled, bloodshot eyes slightly crossed.

A wolfish grin highlighting his features, Natsume handed the girl coffee-rimmed glasses. "Your eyes are crossed. Tell me, what is it like, seeing two of me?"

"Hell," she muttered. "One of you is more than I can bear."

"But that doesn't change your love for me now, does it?"

The girl ran a hand through her tangled hair. Wincing as she yanked her hand free from a particular gnarl, she snorted incredulously. "Oh the devil wished. _Wished_."

"Ah, but I know so."

Waving a dismissive hand, the girl climbed out of bed, her glasses sitting crooked atop the bridge of her nose. "Whatever you say." She stretched, glancing about dim room. "Now, what time did you say it was?"

"Three o'clock."

Pausing half way towards her closet, girl spun around, dubious. " _What_?"

"Must I repeat myself?"

"You said it was ten," she demanded.

Natsume leaned carelessly against a wooden desk, studying the all-too-familiar bedroom slowly. "Oh so I did, did I not?"

Stalking towards the draped window, she forcefully shoved them apart, revealing a dark windowpane. The pearly light of moon wiggled its way through the tree branches above and shyly crawled through the glass window.

A scowl accentuating her brows, the girl turned around slowly. "Liar," she hissed. Seething in silent anger, she strode back to her bed and flopped into the jumbled sheets. Tossing her glasses onto the desk, she moaned into the pillow kicked the covers up behind her.

Natsume merely remained rooted against the desk on the alabaster carpet. A puckish expression tinted his appearance. Earlier in the evening, he had borrowed a loose mahogany muscle tee that somehow made its way into the bedroom owner's closet. Albeit is initial protests, the piece of cloth was shoved into his hands and he was promptly told to change. His lower torso was clad in a dark pair of loose-fitting exercise pants; bare feet stuck out from beneath him, nakedly wondering when they would experience the pleasure of warm socks again.

Natsume cleared this throat.

The figure on the bed popped her head up. Rolling her eyes, she heaved a heavy sigh and heaved her body into a sitting position. Legs dangling over the side of the bed, she reached for her glasses. Tying her hair into a quick topknot, she crossed her arms. "It's three."

"Mikan, here is the deepest secret."

The girl pushed her spectacles up against the bridge of her nose. She wrinkled her nose, " _What_? It can't wait for tomorrow morning?"

Silence engulfed the room.

Natsume pushed away from the table, tongue in his cheek. "If you will be able to wait that long, that is." Stepping towards the door, he rested a hand on the knob. "Sorry for waking you, ace. You have my permission to continue snoring."

He turned the knob, exercising the door's creaky hinges. Slipping through the opening like a ghost, he left without another word.

Mikan sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped and weary mind perplexed.

She half-expected him to change his mind and come lumbering back.

Natsume's receding footsteps faded down the hallway; there was a pause when he reached the stairs – as if he had decided that his departure was unnecessary, that he would come back and continue pestering the brunette after all. After several moments of silence, it was evident that he would make no such decision. Stepping down the stairs, he expertly avoided the creaky step and arrived on the ground story.

 _Secret?_

As her curious nature guided her decisions, her mind was made up moments later. With a grunt, Mikan pushed herself off her warm nest, making her way towards the door. Shaking her head, it seemed to her silly how a "secret" could rouse her more than domineering commands. Tugging the door open successfully, she slid out of the room noiselessly. Tiptoeing past the sleeping forms in her parents' room, she crept down the stairs and made her way towards the living room couch.

Groping her way through the dark, she stubbed her toe against the sharp corner of a table. _Stupid son of a cheese biscuit_ , she cursed.

Several agonizing bumping-into-furniture moments later, her hands finally found what they were looking for.

At the exact moment, a lamp flickered on, revealing a messy black mop of head and raised brows. Natsume had his hand resting on the lamp switch as he stared at the intruder triumphantly. Shaking the amusement from his eyes, he nodded in greeting and cleared his throat. "Hey," he said raspily.

"Hey yourself." Mikan planted herself to her spot. "You are a cliffhanger, you know?"

Natsume's lips tugging upwards hinted his pleasure in seeing her. "I'll greet you with 'Hey, Cliffhanger here' next time then."

Mikan nodded. "Good idea."

He rolled his eyes. "So what brings you my humble abode?" he asked, gesturing towards the soft-cushioned sofa and warm blankets around him.

"Technically, it's my 'abode," Mikan quoted with her fingers, "and not yours."

"Ah, but it is for the night, isn't it?"

"You're hopeless."

"You wish."

"Trust me, I _know_." Mikan wheeled around and settled onto one side of the couch. Cracking the tired bones in her neck, she removed the hair tie from her head and removed her glasses. Mildly able to see without them, she folded them and placed on her lap. She looked up expectantly.

Natsume watched her intently. "Hey, I'm sleeping here."

Mikan harrumphed. "You're awake now, so you might as well spill your little secret."

"I have no secret."

She sucked in her cheeks. Shoving a fisted hand into Natsume's arm, she scoffed. "Yeah-huh."

"Says whom?" he said, echoing her earlier words.

Mikan glared at his mocking tone, "Says you, mister."

"You mean 'here is the deepest secret'?"

She nodded.

"It is a question."

"Question shmeshtin. What is the question then?"

"Would you fuck me?"

Mikan wrinkled her nose. "You should change the question to 'Would you fuck yourself,' actually.

Natsume lowered his voice. "Of course I'd fuck myself. Have you _seen_ how hot I am?"

Mikan rolled her eyes. "Conceited jerk."

" _Hot_ jerk," he corrected smugly.

"As in _jerking off_?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Natsume grinned leisurely. "That too."

Mikan reached forward and flicked her finger across his forehead. "Yeah, I don't think that I need to know that, thank you very much. Is this what I got out of bed for?"

"Apparently," Natsume hummed. "So would you fuck me?" he repeated.

Mikan waved her hand, "Nah. Save your energy, playboy."

He shrugged. "Your loss."

"As if you'd enjoy it, idiot."

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't. Sex must be hell with you."

Mikan aimed a kick at her friend. "Shh. Shut up. My parents will hear," she hissed.

"They're asleep. _That was one heck of a kick_ ," Natsume muttered, rubbing his leg.

"Which reminds me that I should be going to bed as well."

"You're finally leaving. 'Night, Polka."

Mikan rolled her eyes at her nickname of six years. "Goodnight, you queer little thing."

"You mean big," he corrected.

* * *

 _Pervert._

* * *

 _Snarky Holophrasis_  
 _November 14th, 2015_


	3. Bickering With An Attitude

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gakuen Alice; if I did, I would sue for the continuation of the anime series.**

 **Bickering With an Attitude**

* * *

"Natsume, Natsume wake up."

Bundled warmly inside her bathrobe, Mikan leaned over the couch. One hand held on to the towel wrapped around her hair, and one hand rested on her currently snoring-through-his-nose friend's shoulder. Shaking him gently, she whispered, "Wake up, you lazy bum."

Natsume's eyes peeled open. Blinking away the sleep, his lips settled into a temporary scowl. "For the love of gods, can't I get any peace?"

Mikan snorted as she toweled her hair. "No. You started it."

Natsume bellowed in displeasure. "Enlighten me."

The brunette straightened, only to lean over and purposely wring water into her friend's lap. Ignoring his annoyed glare, she pretended to tap her nose, thinking. "Oh I dunno, maybe you _woke me up at goddamn three in the morning_?"

"Oh right, that. Just remembered." Natsume pushed his warm blanket to the side, stood up, and stretched slowly. Blinking slowly, he flexed his biceps and arched his right brow.

Mikan rolled her eyes, draping her towel across her neck. Clapping slowly, she nodded dramatically. "Nice show, buddy. Nice show."

Fully awake now, Natsume whistled through his nose. "You think I don't know that?"

"Nah, you just need constant reassuring," Mikan called behind her shoulder. Tripping up the stairs, she disappeared.

"Point made."

Freshly showered and in a pleasant mood, the girl dropped her towel on her bed and allowed her bathrobe to fall to the floor. Glasses in one hand, she shivered and stood in front of her closet. Gazing at the mountain of unwashed clothes sitting in one corner, she shrugged and bent to inspect suitable garments to wear. Digging through the pile, she hummed in contentment as she settled on what seemed like one of Natsume's maroon-colored Nike sweatshirts and a pair of ivory khaki slacks.

"Eh, they smell alright," she muttered to herself.

Snatching a pair of undergarments from a drawer, she tossed them onto the bed. A knock sounded at the door.

"One moment!" she grunted, tugging the underwear up her legs. As she was slipping her sports bra over her wet hair, an unwelcome intruder glided in.

"Morning, love."

Not the least bit unfazed, Mikan frowned. "I'm not even dressed yet, you idiot."

"Well, I need a towel. Going to take a shower." Without another word, he snagged the semi-wet towel from Mikan's bed. He glanced at his friend's half-naked body and wiggled his eyebrows. "Someone put on some weight," he observed lazily.

Ignoring his comment, the brunette combed through her hair before standing with her hands on her hips. "That's my towel."

"I'm using it."

"Whatever." Throwing a loose tank top across her body, she shoved Natsume out the door. "If you don't stop _ogling_ ," she scoffed, "We will be late."

"I wasn't ogling. Why would I ogle you?"

"Because you are a hormonal teenager who loves porn."

"But only certain types of porn, mind you," he corrected.

Sighing in exasperation, she slammed the door in his face and continued dressing. "If you aren't finished showering within ten minutes, I'm leaving without you!" she called.

"Not a chance, Polka. Not a chance."

Fifteen minutes and a scrawled-out note for her parents later, the bickering duo was out the door. Half-frozen bagel in one hand and a paper cup of steaming coffee in the other, Mikan offered her friend a bite.

"I'm not touching your saliva."

The brunette rolled her eyes behind her glasses. "As if. You'll be hungry halfway through classes. Have a bite."

"Your saliva is contaminated. If I get hungry, I'll be taking your lunch."

"No way José."

"Yes way."

Mikan shoved her friend onto the grass and continued walking, her nose in the air. Readjusting the straps of her convertible backpack, she took a sip of the steaming hot liquid and continued marching. Ignoring the protests from her dark-haired companion, the brunette quickened her pace.

"Jesus, slow down."

"No."

Snatching the bagel from Mikan's hand, Natsume smirked. Taking a bite, he chewed slowly, watching the girl's annoyed figure as she slowly made her way through the fallen leaves.

Catching up in several long strides, he reached out. "Here."

"Why thank you," the brunette bit out forcefully. Snatching the half-eaten bagel, she shoved her paper cup into his hands. "Black and one sugar, just as you like it."

"I actually like two sugars, but—," he began.

"Save it, genius. Too much sugar will ruin your teeth."

"Hey, I have perfect teeth."

"You had braces for three years."

"Says whom?"

"Says that fucking brilliant smile you have. Happy?" she growled.

"Very."

"You're ruining my good mood, you know?"

"My intent precisely."

Soon enough, almost too soon, the duo reached the school grounds.

Surrey Borough Alice Secondary School was a branch of the Alice Academies founded in Japan and expanded in the American territories. There were two levels of education before students were given an opportunity to enter the secluded but extremely respected Alice Universities across the globe; Alice University's headquarters and origins lay in the hundreds of miles of secretive land in Northern Tokyo, Japan. Since its founding in the 1700s, the school had slowly spread overseas and came to establish elementary and secondary education.

As Natsume and Mikan stepped through the looming iron-wrought gates, they entered the throng of students milling about. From children as young as twelve to high school seniors, the lower grades were clustered in small groups, chattering excitedly in their respective red uniforms.

Walking side by side, the pair nodded greetings to the youngsters and was soon joined by a silent figure in black.

The duo nodded silently at the newcomer; only for the comfortable silence to disperse when Mikan nudged the wordless figure beside her.

"Hotaru, are you going off on a murder spree?"

"A murder spree might fair me well, actually." There was a soft tinkle behind her reserved voice as she spoke. Two summers ago, Hotaru Imai had transferred to New Jersey from the Alice Academy in Tokyo. Her violet eyes apathetic, she saw much and spoke little. Fair skinned, dark-haired, and watchful, the distantly mysterious aura radiating from her kept most students at bay.

"Grouchy today?"

Natsume interjected, "Imai is the epitome of attitude." Tossing the paper cup into a nearby trash can, he nodded in approval when it dropped into its proper place.

The brunette elbowed her moody male friend and adjusted her olive beanie just as the morning bell rung. "Cut her some slack, emo," she murmured.

"She is the emo one here," Natsume muttered.

"You may abandon your childish act now, Hyuuga. It's getting old."

"I agree, you are getting old."

Chewing her lip, Mikan sidled to the side, interjecting her friends' prattle. "Guys, uh, I'll be off to class. See you next period?"

Natsume nodded, glaring at "See you, Polka."

Pushing the raven-headed grumbler away, Hotaru nodded curtly, "See you in Physics, birdbrain."

* * *

 _Snarky Holophrasis  
_ _November 15th, 2015_

 ** _A/N:_** _I truly appreciate the Follows and Favorites I have received. Thank you. Lexi, a personal thank you for the reviews. The story is about to truly begin._


	4. Parental Criticism, Barren Bedroom

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tachibana Higuchi; the poem mentioned in this chapter belongs to its (amazing) rightful owner, E. E. Cummings.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four:** **Parental Criticism, Barren Bedroom**

* * *

"When did you say the acceptance letters would be sent?"

"Before January fifteenth."

"All of them?"

An exasperated sigh whistled through a pair of lips. "Mom, we've gone over this already."

"Natsume, that is not how you talk to your mother."

The raven-haired teenager glanced up from his physics textbook, seething at his father's bespectacled figure across the dining table. Suppressing another complaint, he muttered, "Alice U is _January 15_ _th_ ," he emphasized. "Harvard, Princeton, and Yale early admission should be next month – Columbia too; local college acceptance arrives mid-February.

"I'm sorry dear; I could not catch the last part."

Natsume bit his bottom lip, gripping his textbook; he knew this was coming – it was on a daily basis that they broached this conversation. He knew that his mother purposely – no, deliberately – asked him to repeat said statement. His parents had argued, questioning him time and time again why on earth he would apply to the local county college.

"Natsume?" his father prompted.

"Father," Natsume returned shortly. Inhaling slowly, he repeated, "The local college will release acceptance notifications before, or around January fifteenth." He wanted to add _There, happy?_

It was only his father's superior gaze that prevented him from doing so.

Somewhere in the room, a vibration indicated either an incoming call or a text message.

Natsume glanced at his own cellphone – No, it wasn't for him; his screen was the same dark reflection of scratches and devious cracks. He looked up in time to see his father shuffle through his own papers and binders before fishing his phone out of the incoherent mess of paperwork and ink pens.

"Hyuuga speaking – Yes, Takahashi Hyuuga," he said flatly. "No – Ye-No, I'm sorry?" Natsume's father nodded into the receiver, noises of disapproval or approval emerging from his throat occasionally. "I see. Call me if you need assistance."

Natsume continued reading his textbook. Right hand holding a yellow highlighter and cap lodged between his lips, he swiftly underlined several words before jotting a few notes in a leather-bound notebook.

 _ **Avogadro's law:**_

 _Under the same conditions of temperature and pressure, equal volumes of all gases contain equal number of molecules._

 _In other words,_ _V ÷ n = k_ _is the mathematical equation for Avogadro's law.  
_ **V** _represents the volume of the gas(es)  
_ **n** _is the amount of substance of the gas  
_ **k** _is the variable of a proportionality constant_

 _ideal gas constant has the same value for all gases_

It was simple. These pieces of information filed themselves into the multiple compartments of Natsume's brain. But oh, there was so much more. To him, the Ideal Gas Law was but an equation; to him, the Molar Volume was the simplified, bookmarked version of a numerical and variable-filled equation.

"Natsume."

The studying teenager looked up, an unintentional scowl creasing his brows. Distractedly, he said, "Yeah?"

Takahashi Hyuuga nodded. Glancing at his wife whom was currently busy at the stove, he returned his gaze to his son. "Your mother and I," he began, "Have been thinking, wondering. You have been acting up unnecessarily."

Natsume stiffened visibly. _What now?_ he wondered. Allowing his ballpoint pen to fall loosely against his notebook, he looked up, spine ramrod straight. He stared at his father, his heart palpitating in his ribcage as it threatened to suffocate him. His breathing turned shallow, his head faint. Quickly – almost too quickly – his ears plugged themselves and his hearing turned fuzzy. _Impossible, no it—_

"What is the matter, dear?" his mom had noticed his change in behavior and had come up behind him, brow creased with worry. She placed both hands on his shoulder soothingly, as if she was attempting to coax an answer out of him.

No of course, they couldn't possibly know. No one did. _Almost_ no one knew. He wasn't a toddler anymore; it took more than a few words to coax more than a few words out of his mouth.

 _Denial – that would be the answer._

He craned his neck and turned around. "Nothing is the matter, mom. You are worried over nothing." Natsume bit the insides of his lip; trembling uncontrollably, he forced himself to reassure his worrying mother – worrying did her no good.

"He is no longer a child. God forbid you treat him like one."

Natsume grit his teeth. Fear replaced itself with an irate heat that only the gradual spreading of a kindled fire could explain. His jaw bone cracked, and he settled for holding his tongue with his teeth in a physical manner. Blood.

"—and he can continue brooding until the end of his days, if that is what he wants. Son," his father said sharply, "has your mind wandered? Are you listening?"

Natsume remained silent. Where his hands lay clenched to his hands were now replaced with limp arms; his eyesight, unfocused stared at his father's figure, who was still sitting across the table in an unnervingly calm voice. Slowly but steadily, insults were hurled at his face.

 _It's almost as if he knows._

Natsume tuned out. It did not sit well with him, his father's eerily calm demeanor – it was as if his father knew something, knew everything, but not a single muscle in his wicked body gave it away. It was as if his father enjoyed it, when his own son at on the cushion of the wooden chair and the older man taunted his well-kept secret. He felt his mother's protective presence behind him, defensive until the very end.

But this—if this was how his father expected him to give in, to speak, to cave, to say anything he himself wasn't willing to say, then the older was wrong, dead wrong.

This was his secret, and it was up to him when, how, and if he would ever reveal it.

* * *

The room was a brilliant white. It was not cozy; it wasn't welcoming; and it wasn't warm, but in a contradicting manner, it did not intend to rebuff any creature from entering, and oddly, it was not at all cold.

The room – it was just, a room.

Wherein bedrooms would often be expected to radiate of warmth and welcome, this was not the case of Natsume's childhood bedchamber.

It was simple, barren, and plain. Not a speck of dust was capable of being seen with the naked eye; not a single item was misplaced; nothing in the sterile room gave off the character's personality and tendencies whatsoever.

It was a room that was designed to be slept and studied in – nothing less, and nothing more.

But to the tumultuous clash of feelings that lay dormant under the whiteness of the room, there was much to be told, much to be said, and much to be discovered.

Natsume himself sat at the foot of his waist-height bedstead. Legs bent at the knees, he remained motionless, a pen dangling from between his fingers. He shoved the book off his lap, too distracted to make sense of the endless text on the pages. As it slid with a thud onto the bedspread, he heaved himself into a standing position and walked to a drawer.

Fingering a thin sheet of paper, he held the piece of material as if it were gossamer before sitting himself on the floor. He could bear the softness of the snow-white comforter no longer.

He held in his hands a short, simple poem. It was deliciously masterful, written with poise, and yet the words were adeptly framed in substantially veiled fragility. In his brief, peaceful conversations with his father – even mother – he would allude to E.E. Cummings's easily understood _i carry your heart with me_.

Unlike Cummings however, Natsume had no heart to carry – in a metaphoric sense or a physical sense. Against all rules of science, he understood why, but simultaneously, the solution to this equation baffled him beyond words.

It would be an impossible feat, to voice himself to his parents; it irked him, just the thought of communicating the impossible with his traditional, stern father.

" _You should get a girlfriend,"_ he would say.

" _You need to work harder; Harvard does not accept laziness,"_ he would scold.

" _Brains may help you, but they won't magically do your work for you,"_ he would discipline.

What Natsume's father expected him to with a girlfriend perplexed him. It wasn't that he did not like girls; it wasn't that he held a grudge against the female race — heck, his relationship with Mikan said all it needed to say on that matter — But most girls, how would one put it? They were, different; they were something of a mystifying creature trapped in their own world of things.

Feminine creatures merely failed to suit his tastes. He wasn't attracted to them. _There it_ is, he thought wryly. Females, girls and women alike, did not interest him beyond a simple friendship; and with the exception of Mikan, they never have.

It seemed so trivial, so unimportant, that it seemed that he was making a big deal over nothing.

And yet, here he was, his sweat pant bottom against the wooden floor of thread-bare bedroom, his back against equally vapid drawers.

And so, _this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_. This was his favorite line from the said poem of Cummings. The wonder – it was his own personality, his own beliefs, his own _body_ that troubled him far greater than he could have wished.

A duck ringtone broke through his endless trail of thoughts. Startled out of his trance-like state, he placed his sheet of paper on the floor. Reaching for his cellphone in his pocket, he swiped right and held the receiver to his ear.

"Mikan," he greeted tiredly.

" _Hey_ ," she responded. " _Bad time?_ "

"You can't expect it to be a bad time if it's anything involving you, you know?" Despite himself, Natsume laughed quietly.

" _You make us sound like a cheesy old couple._ " She sneezed. Somewhere in the background, Natsume heard the brunette's mother's voice. The receiver muffled for a few seconds and seemed as if Mikan called a reply. " _Sorry about that_ ," she apologized.

He waved it off, running a weary hand through his entangled hair. "Don't worry about. So, what's up?"

" _I'm bored, and Mom is watching world breaking news on the TV - she wants me to watch with her, but I don't care for such matters,_ " she said lowly. " _And I have these terrible cramps. I swear to god, they are killing me,_ " she hissed.

"I have chocolate," he offered. It would be nice to have some company.

" _I will be there in fifteen,_ " she promised over the phone. With a click, she had hung up.

Natsume shook his head, ghost smile upon his lips. He glanced at his bright screen. _9:37 p.m._

His parents had gone out. Following a lengthy phone call, several hushed profanities, and one malevolent scowl, Mr. and Mrs. Hyuuga had bustled out the door in their respective coats and scarves. Laptop under an arm and leather purse in the other, his mother had given him a quick peck on the cheek, murmured " _Love you_ ," and hustled out the door to her husband's ushering.

Natsume's phone rang again.

Taking his sweet time in answering upon seeing the caller, he said lazily, "Yes, your majesty?"

Breathlessly, Mikan said, " _Are your parents home?_ "

"No, why?" he asked, brow furrowed.

It sounded as if she was running now. " _I'm almost at your house. I need to tell you something._ "

"That something isn't a second declaration of your period?" he joked poorly. When he was met with the rushing of wind, he amended, "Hey, why are you running?"

" _Something's happened, I just learned – about five minutes ago_ ," she susurrated with bated breath. " _Mom made me-_ _Have you heard anything from Luca recently?_ "

Natsume, utterly confused, stared at his phone, "Not in the past week, no."

" _Oh God, oh G- Just open your door, 'kay?_ "

"Coming, coming," he muttered, tightening his sweat pant strings. Rubbing his muddled eyes, he hung up and stepped through his bedroom door, dashing down the stairs. Throwing the entrance door open, he was met with a ruddy-faced brunette with a frosted nose; in the freezing weather, she was clad in nothing but a hoodie and a pair of jeans.

She pushed past him, frantic as she clenched and unclenched her frozen hands. Panting, she opened and closed her mouth, fear ablaze in her eyes.

 _What happened? What is going on?_

Natsume, still utterly clueless, shook her shoulders. "Breath. In, out. In, out. That's it." He gripped his friend's shoulders and nodded in approval as she greedily gulped in air.

Mikan stepped back from his grip. "Paris," she choked out. "It's been attacked. Terrorists, suicide bombers. A lot of people died." Her body shook as she bit her lip.

Not able to register what she had said, Natsume nodded slowly. _Paris?_

"And for all I know," Natsume could easily tell she was attempting to suppress the bile rising in her throat as her voice rose into a shaky crescendo, "something could have happened to Luca."

* * *

 **A/N:** I'd be very thankful for reviews regarding what you think of the plot so far, what can be better and whatnot, etc. Grant this straggling teenager (me) several early Christmas presents please? Thank you very much!

 _Snarky Holophrasis_  
 _November 20th, 2015_


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